Pickled Faeries
by Ellie Dee
Summary: Hobbits, drunken faeries and birthday presents, need we say more?


TITLE: "Pickled Faeries."  
AUTHOR: Ellie Dee   
EMAIL: Ellie_Dee@hotmail.com   
RATING: PG  
PAIRING: None.  
SUMMARY: Hobbits, drunken faeries and birthday presents, need we say more?  
SPOILERS: Anything through "Goblet of Fire" should be considered fair game.  
DISCLAIMER: There is but one Goddess and J.K.Rowling is her Prophet. Here  
to entertain, please don't sue.  
DISTRIBUTION: You want it, you can have it. Just please keep my name and  
Email address on it and let me know where it's wandered off to.   
FEEDBACK: YES! This is the only way I get paid and right now I am   
emotionally bankrupt!   
DEDICATION:  
  
  
"Pickled Faeries."  
By Ellie Dee  
  
  
Late one Friday afternoon, the Hogwarts faculty were seated in the Staff room.  
Classes were over for the week and Professor Dumbledore was just wrapping up   
the weekly staff meeting. Suddenly a flight of owls entered the room through a  
high open window and began delivering letters and packages to various teachers.  
  
"Ah, good. I was starting to think we wouldn't be seeing any mail today."   
Remarked the Headmaster.  
  
A large great owl barely squeezed through the window and then swooped down to  
drop a large box into the lap of Professor Flitwick.   
  
"Oh wonderful, simply wonderful!" Exclaimed the halfling professor.  
  
"What is it professor?" asked Professor McGonagall.  
  
"A package from my cousin Mary. She's a hearth-witch in the colonies, a place  
called Appalachia."   
  
"We see each other infrequently, so every year she sends me a sample of her   
canning," he said.   
  
Inside the box were several sheets of parchment, four glass jars and a small   
stoneware jug all nestled in a great pile of shredded paper.  
  
Each jar was about eight inches tall and had a two piece metal lid. Also,   
inside each jar was a tiny, delicate faery. Beside each was an equally tiny   
copy of Professor Flitwick's stoneware jug.  
  
All four faeries were behaving strangely. One was laying on the floor of the   
jar with her head resting on her jug. Another was standing or at least trying   
to stand on her head. A red-headed faery, her jug sitting at her feet, was   
standing with her face pressed against the wall of her jar. The last was   
sitting on the floor with her back against the wall.   
  
As the staff watched the faery that was sitting reached beside her, raising   
the miniature jug to her lips she took a long drink. Setting the jug down,   
the faery screwed up her face and let out an incredibly loud burp that could  
not only be heard across the room but actually caused the jar to ring. The   
faery then hiccupped and her head fell to her knees.  
  
"Oh good! They're thoroughly pickled."  
  
"Professor, what's wrong with them?" Madam Pomfrey asked.  
  
Looking up at he teachers surrounding him, Flitwick blinked several times   
before replying.   
  
"Just as I said, they're pickled, you know...drunk."  
  
Seeing the confusion on everyone's faces, he explained.  
  
"Just before the first full moon of Spring, Mary places her jars inside   
a newly formed Faery Ring. As you all know, faeries form inside Faery Rings  
during a full moon, but what you may not know is that faeries simply love   
alcohol, but don't usually come across it till they've grown some."  
  
"Why is that?" asked Madam Pomfrey.  
  
"Well you see, when they're young, faeries generally don't care for people.  
So if they form near people they tend to rush off into the woods until they   
get older."  
  
"Then how does your cousin catch them?" Professor Dumbledore asked.  
  
Chuckling to himself, Professor Flitwick picked up the stoneware jug from   
the box. "Like I said, faeries love alcohol!" Pulling out the cork, Flitwick  
handed the jug to the Headmaster.  
  
Lifting it to his face, Professor Dumbledore started to take a sniff when   
he exclaimed, "Merlin's Beard, Praedo! This is almost pure alcohol!"   
  
"I know, it's Moonshine, our family's secret recipe. Mary places a small   
jug of this in each jar and when the faeries begin to form they're drawn   
to the smell. The faeries can't resist it."   
  
"And by morning they're too drunk to get away," added the headmaster.  
  
"Exactly."   
  
Madam Pomfrey looked thoughtful for a moment then asked, "But what does  
she do with the faeries after she catches them?"  
  
"Why, she trains them of course. Mary and I have been training faeries   
for quite a few years. When they're properly trained, faeries can be   
very powerful allies and excellent familiars. So after they have sobered  
up some, we train them till they reach adulthood."  
  
Suddenly Professor Snape entered the room.  
  
"Ah, Severus. Good to see you."  
  
"Headmaster," Snape replied darkly. Then as he turned to survey the   
room his eyes locked on Flitwick.  
  
His expression quickly softened as he addressed the halfling teacher.  
  
"A new shipment of faeries, I see."  
  
"Yes, they only just arrived."  
  
Leaning down, Snape examined each of the faeries carefully.   
  
"Beautiful, simply beautiful. Excellent specimens professor."  
  
Reaching into the box, Flitwick carefully removed the jar containing   
the sleeping faery.  
  
"Here," he said, handing the jar to Snape. "I know how much you like   
them. Think of it as an early birthday present."  
  
Looking as if he were in pain, Snape accepted the jar solemnly and   
stared longingly at the tiny golden haired being. "Thank you professor,"  
he murmured.  
  
Collecting his books, Snape wished Dumbledore a hushed, "Headmaster."   
Then with a swirl of his cloak, he left the room.  
  
"Why, I do believe Serverus was crying," said Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Minerva, you shouldn't seem so surprised."  
  
"But it seems so out of character."  
  
"Not really. Severus is a fine Potions Master. With the aid of a   
loyal faery he would be able to find almost any ingredient that he   
needed. Also everyone has some good in them. It simply takes something  
to help bring that goodness out." The Headmaster remarked.  
  
"I suppose you're right, Professor."  
  
~*~  
  
Walking down the hallway towards his office, Snape's mind was occupied  
by a single thought as he admired Flitwick's gift, "Now where did I put  
that jar of mustard?"  
  
  
THE END. 


End file.
